


No Saint Either

by The_Kinky_Pet



Series: a fine line [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, M/M, Rough Sex, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Kinky_Pet/pseuds/The_Kinky_Pet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Tony discuss gender and sexuality.  Steve hates the 21st century; Tony hates self-righteousness (and, sometimes, himself).  </p><p>Or Tony and Steve fight, then fight again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This isn’t my platonic ideal head canon version of these characters, but it’s a darker version that swims around in my imagination sometimes. This whole thing started out as a small set of dialogue-only drabbles. Then it was a PWP. Then it kept growing until I decided to cobble the whole thing together and call it ‘fic.’
> 
> Beta-ed my amazing friends, Mary and Steph. (Thank you!)

“Prudish much there, Cap?” Tony asked after the elevator doors had closed on his latest overnight visitor. 

(And Rogers said he couldn’t keep track! That was Jessica. Before her was Caitlyn and before her Samantha, Jenny, Tammy, and Kiara. And he could be a gentleman. Sometimes. He’d let Jessica have coffee and had walked her to the elevator. Who said chivalry was dead?) 

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to see you or your guest before noon,” Steve snapped. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have been in here.” 

“No? Why not?” Tony’s look was all mock innocence, but there was something challenging underneath. “It’s not like I’m embarrassed. Is there a problem?”

“Just leave it, Stark,” Steve snapped, turning to exit the kitchen.

“Just wondering,” Tony called, “do you go around judging people’s sexual exploits all the time or am I a special case? No, don’t answer. I think I know already.” Tony glared. “You’re too polite to say anything, but you look at us and you’re judging even if it isn’t out loud. After all you’re such a good guy you aren’t the type to say nasty words to a lady like slut or whore, but that doesn’t mean you don’t think them.” 

“Yeah, “ Steve said, his tone carefully measured and controlled, “I guess you're part right at that, Stark. But it’s not them I judge—it’s you.” 

Tony’s surprise must have shown on his face because Steve continued, tone more emphatic, dropping down to a hiss. “Men like you disgust me, Stark. Your type disgusted me in the ‘40s and you still disgust me now. It’s all just a game to you isn’t it? Notches on a bed post, bragging rights—does it make you feel like a man? You play with other people’s feelings, prey on their hopes; you act like you’re so open-minded and liberal, but it’s really just a front to do whatever you want.”

“Oh ho, listen to you!” Tony’s voice was angry, but he held his casual stance, that ‘don’t give a damn’ body language. (He’d had lots of time to perfect it, after all.) “What, because all women want hearth and home and children and would never go to bed with someone unless that would help them get it? Women are all about feelings, aren’t they? So, what? I must somehow be deceiving them?”

Tony set his coffee cup down hard on the counter. 

“News for you, Rogers. Some women love sex. And it’s not my job to police their motivations. You think they’re all innocent, delicate little flowers in need of protecting. Well a gal like Pepper or Natasha could kick your ass AND rip your heart to shreds while they’re at it. So stop acting like you’re some sort of feminist —you’re a misogynist just like everybody else, pretending you’re their knight in shining armor.”

Tony started to leave the room, then spun to add, “And, just so we’re clear, some of them would love to get their hands on my money and my fame. And I don’t give a fuck about disappointing them.”

Tony stormed out of the kitchen, wishing there were a door for him to slam. 

Steve felt vindictive pleasure when he realized Tony had abandoned his coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

The Tower was truly huge. There were Tony’s penthouse suites on the top floors, then the common areas he’d designed for the Avengers to share—kitchen, dining room, game room, entertainment center. Then they each had their own personal floor—complete with kitchenettes, living rooms, and the like—and then there was the ballroom and reception floors, two specially designed gym floors, and an Olympic pool. There were the myriad floors devoted to Stark Industries and then, down in the lower levels accessible only by secure express elevator, were Bruce and Tony’s labs. Considering all that space, it was easy not to see each other for days at a time and, with a little effort and strategy (or access to Jarvis), it was possible to avoid someone indefinitely. 

It was therefore entirely unremarkable that Tony didn’t see Steve for a two full weeks after their fight. Not until the PR and fundraising gala to support the Avengers Initiative. (And, yes, full attendance was mandatory.) 

***

They ignored each other all evening amidst the swirling dresses, well-starched shirts, and sparkling champagne glasses. Perversely, this required a careful attention to one another’s whereabouts and meant a constant watchfulness, taking in each other’s movements, mood, motions. It was exhausting.

When Steve slipped into the piano room alone, Tony decided to seize the opportunity. This had really gone on long enough. For Christ’s sake, they lived in the same building. It was getting ridiculous. 

“Hey, Cap,” Tony said, strolling in after Steve and swirling a cut crystal tumbler. (Club soda, on the rocks.) He shut the door behind him.

“Stark,” Steve said curtly from the window where he was looking out at the New York skyline. He glanced over. “Alone? Already tired of your latest conquest?”

Tony bristled. “Seriously? Are we really gonna do this? Again? ‘cause it feels familiar and I’m bored with it already.”

“Never do anything twice do you, Stark?” 

Tony came closer with a deliberate saunter as he said, “You know I was thinking and at first I couldn’t figure you out, Rogers. What’s the obsession with my sex life, I wondered, but now I’ve got a theory.” He grinned. “You’re a ken doll, aren’t you? And look, isn’t that adorable, you don’t even know what I’m talking about. Look it up sometime—he’s a plastic toy with a perfect body, but no dick. You’ve never actually fucked anybody, have you? Sorry—you’ve never made love.”

“Fuck you, Stark.” 

Tony laughed. “Aw, baby, don’t make promises you can’t keep. And here I thought your issues were gonna be deep and interesting, but it’s the same judgmental bullshit and jealousy that everybody else is dishing out.” 

“Jealous? Of you, Stark?” Steve snorted. “Hardly. You may dazzle everybody else, but when I look at you all I see is a spoiled child.” Steve’s voice was calm and cutting; it would actually soften the words if he yelled. “Does anyone put up with you without being on your payroll? Small wonder no woman will tolerate your crap for more than a few quick tumbles. So, what was your longest relationship anyway?” 

Tony’s hand shook for a moment-- (Pepper. Pepper was out there in another backless blue dress and the sapphires he wouldn’t let her return, Pepper smiling and dancing with Happy and Tony wished them well, he did, he--). He slammed his glass down on the bar. 

“I do love talking about myself, but I hear it’s bad manners, so let’s talk about you, hm? I see you’re on your own this evening, Cap. Why is that? No eager bachelorettes looking to be Mrs. America?” 

Tony examined his reflection in the window, adjusting his tie and brushing back his hair as he spoke. “You’re a patient man, Rogers. Let me guess—you’re saving yourself for marriage. Waiting for true love? The white picket fence? The perfect girl? How’s the American fairy tale working out for you? Girls today not living up to the ideal you had pre-freeze?”

Steve took a sharp breath. (Peggy. Peggy Carter: loving wife and mother: 1920-1992. Not ten, but seventy years too late. She’s buried outside London, beside her husband. Her daughter is a Professor at Cambridge.)

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Tony rambled on, coming closer, footfalls quiet on the plush carpet. “I mean, sure, some women today are gonna be turned off by the repressive gender bullshit, but, with the best physique ever to come out of a lab, I’m sure you can play arm candy for somebody. Thank God for the serum, right? I mean, at least now I guess you’re saving yourself by choice.” Tony threw back the last of his drink.

“You’re a nasty piece of work, Stark,” Steve hissed when he finally got his breathing under control. 

“What can I say? I aim to please. And let’s not forget who started this particular conversation. Or the last one, come to think of it.” Tony slapped a hand to his mouth in mock amazement. “Why, Captain, I do believe you’re obsessed!” A flush crept across Steve’s cheeks. His bow tie felt like a noose. 

Tony twisted and turned, striking a pose, “Not that I can blame you, I mean, look at me! But, I’m so silly! Here I thought you were jealous of me, but really you’ve been jealous of them.”

Tony stalked closer. “Aw, baby,” he purred. “Why didn’t you just say so? There’s plenty of me to go around. Come here.”

“What!?” Steve cried, jumping away. “No!”

Tony looked at him, startled for a moment, then grinned. “It’s okay, babe. Of course, you can fuck me. I’m a slut, after all, right? I’m always up for it.”

Steve’s face was dark red and he was nearly stumbling as he backed away from Tony’s approach.

“Knock it off, Stark,” Steve said, but his command voice failed him. “I’m not—“

“Really?” Tony asked with a smirk, running his eyes up and down Steve’s retreating form. “You’re not?” Steve’s back hit the wall and he didn’t move. “I don’t think I believe you.” Tony reached down and Steve gasped. He was already half-hard. 

Steve’s breath hitched as Tony fondled his cock through his trousers.

“Is this what you wanted this whole time?” Tony asked, his voice hot and heavy against Steve’s neck. 

Steve groaned and threw his head back. “Oh God.” 

Tony fumbled between them with Steve’s belt, desperate for skin. “Is this what you want, Rogers? Desperate for a quick fuck, just like everybody else?”

“Shut up!” Steve spun and slammed Tony into the wall, holding him there and rutting against his thigh. “Shut up, shut up,” Steve gasped, rocking his hips. His face was flushed, his breathing ragged.

“Are you going to come in your pants like this?” Tony taunted, driving his thigh up hard against Steve’s cock. “Like a virgin? Like a pathetic teenager?” 

Steve bit Tony’s ear, hard, and made him gasp. 

“So desperate for it you can’t even get out of your clothes, can you, Rogers? You should really let me help you with that. After all, I’ve got lots of experience.” 

Tony shoved both hands between their bodies, unfastening Steve’s belt, yanking his trousers open and his briefs down. Steve’s cock was heavy and hot in Tony’s hand. Steve moaned and his body jerked as Tony stroked his cock; Tony grinned and undid his own trousers one-handed. He grabbed Steve’s hips, adjusting the angle, pulling him lower so he could bring their bare erections together, rutting and stroking.

“Do you like that?” Tony asked in a sultry voice as Steve panted heavily against his neck. Steve’s fingers dug into Tony’s shoulders, hard enough to bruise. 

“What do you want, hm?” Tony asked seductively. 

Steve didn’t answer, just pressed his face into Tony’s shoulder, gasping wetly against Dolce & Gabanna. 

“Tell me what you want and you can have it,” Tony promised. 

Steve pulled back enough to look at Tony with wild eyes. “I—“ He swallowed thickly and looked away. 

“Whatever you want,” Tony whispered. He held Steve’s dick tight in his hand, not moving. 

“Wanna push me to my knees and choke me with your cock?”

Tony strained forward, wanting to lick Steve’s neck, to worry his earlobe with his teeth, but Steve kept him pinned hard against the wall. Tony forced a hand under Steve’s shirt, raked his fingernails, hard, down Steve’s back, imagining the red marks he’d leave behind. Steve shuddered.

“Or,” Tony said, dragging him closer, “do you wanna spread me open and fuck me.” 

“Yes—“ Steve hissed. 

“Say it.”

“Yes!”

“No, tell me what you want.”

“I—“ Steve’s voice was harsh. “I want to fuck you.” 

Tony grinned. “Then do it.” 

For several long moments they stared at each other, unblinking and unmoving; then suddenly they were tearing at each other’s clothes, buttons flying, struggling to expose more flesh to scratch and bite. Steve’s skin was bare under his dress shirt and Tony squeezed and tugged at his nipples. 

Steve raked his fingers up Tony’s thigh, leaving thick red welts. He yanked Tony’s bowtie and ripped at his shirt. Tony was wearing a thick tank top underneath, but in the darkened room Steve could still see a faint blue glow shining through. Steve’s palm brushed hard metal, and Tony jerked away. He spun suddenly to face the wall, bracing himself and arching his back, presenting his naked ass. 

“Come on, I thought you were going to fuck me.” 

Steve’s breath hitched. 

Tony fumbled in his jacket. “Here,” Tony said, handing Steve a condom, then adding a sardonic, “you know what to do with that, right?”

“Yes,” Steve bit out, rolling the latex over his aching cock. 

“Good. Use this too,” Tony ordered, handing him another packet and kicking out of his trousers. Steve spread Tony’s cheeks, stroking and kneading his ass in a rough caress, then ripped the foil open and drizzled lube down Tony’s crack. Steve watched, fascinated, as Tony twitched, his hole clenching and relaxing. Tony spread his legs obscenely wider, shifting restlessly. 

Steve took a deep breath. He guided his dick to Tony’s entrance, rubbing his cockhead up and down Tony’s cleft. Even that, just that, felt amazing.

“What are you waiting for?” Tony asked. “Are you gonna fuck me or not?” 

Steve slammed in and Tony cried out once before shoving his fist in his mouth. (It hurt, oh God, should have had prep, Rogers was huge and it had been years…) Steve, buried balls-deep, held still and took deep, calming breaths. (So tight, so hot, oh God, oh God, so wrong…) He licked Tony’s neck, lapping at the tender spot behind his ear. He ran his hands up and down Tony’s back and his shoulders, stroked his hips with gentle fingers. (Steve didn’t try to touch his chest again.) Steve thought he could feel Tony’s heartbeat pulsing around his cock. He shivered. 

“Come already, did you?” Tony taunted. 

Steve growled. He pulled out, and rammed in again, hard. Tony groaned and pushed back. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” 

Steve clutched Tony’s hips, fingernails almost breaking the skin, leaving two rows of sharp crescents. Tony shifted under him, squirming to adjust the angle. Steve thrust again, driving Tony up onto the balls of his feet.

“Fuck!” Tony cried. Steve grinned then thrust in again. Steve grabbed Tony’s wrists, gathered them in one large hand and pinning them against the wall. The room hummed with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, choked cries and bitten off curses. 

Tony struggled, cheek pressed to the wall, hands still pinned, unable to move. “Fuck,” he groaned, “touch me.” 

Steve kept him pinned and slowed his thrusts, grinding up into Tony’s tight body. 

“Touch me! Make me come. Make me come taking your cock.”

“Jesus!” Steve cried out and threw his head back, speeding his thrusts again, hard and brutal. 

“Yeah, fuck me! Like that. Fuck.” Tony bucked and struggled, then begged. “Come on. . . touch me. Don’t you want to feel me clenching all around your hot prick?” 

Steve let out a strangled moan and closed his hand around Tony’s swollen cock. Two sharp pulls and Tony came, shuddering and gasping, striping the wall with his spunk. With a cry, Steve followed him, coming so hard he felt dizzy. 

Tony stood, braced against the wall with Steve draped across his back, cock slowly softening inside him; Tony panted heavily, still catching his breath. Everything ached.

Steve clasped Tony in an awkward embrace, nuzzling his face into Tony’s neck and shoulder, pressing hot kisses to his flushed skin. Steve looked more than a little dazed, eyes blown wide, as he pulled Tony around to kiss him, languid swipes of tongue, wet and messy. He cupped Tony’s face with a large hand; there were tear tracks down Tony’s cheek. Steve brushed at them with his thumb and opened his mouth for another kiss. Tony pulled away.

“So, big guy,” Tony said, “you gonna buy me a ring now?” Steve tensed and Tony added, “‘cause you’re not supposed to kiss a whore on the mouth, you know.” 

Steve jerked and pulled out suddenly. (Tony suppressed a wince, face against the wall.) Steve turned his back on Tony, trying to control his breathing. He yanked the condom off and threw it into the trash. 

Tony pulled on his trousers and put his clothes in order as best he could manage. (Lube trickled slowly from his abused hole. It left a filthy itch.) 

“Nothing to say to me, baby?” Tony cooed. 

Slowly, Steve righted his clothes and tried to recover his calm. (Nobody would notice the missing shirt buttons if he kept his jacket done up; surely in another twenty minutes Steve could slip away. Retreat to his own rooms. Shower.) 

“What?” Tony asked. “Did your first casual fuck not live up to the hype?”

Steve turned slowly to look at Tony—Tony, with his cocky smile, arms crossed over his chest, leaning casually against the wall. 

“You really do ruin everything you touch, don’t you?” Steve stared down at Tony for a moment before adding softly, “You disgust me.”

Steve closed the door gently behind him. 

Tony leaned heavily against the wall, trying to catch his breath.


	3. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned to end the story for good with the end of the second chapter, but that didn't quite work out. Mostly because Pepper wanted her say. (Then I almost made this a separate story or a sequel, but here it is as a pseudo-epilogue.)
> 
> Hope you like it!

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Pepper Pots said as she glided elegantly across the ballroom. She turned her blinding smile on old Mr. and Mrs. Smyth-Johnson, then Steve. “Captain Rogers? Could I speak to you for a moment in private?” she asked, motioning to the side room. 

“Of course.” Steve made polite apologies to the couple and followed Pepper through the (now rather tipsy) throng. She led him first into a drawing room and closed the door, then took him through to the next room. As she closed the second door, Steve asked, “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

When Pepper Potts slapped him hard across the face, Steve was too stunned to move.

“What the fuck did you do to him?” Pepper asked, her voice disturbingly calm. 

“What are you talking about?”

She pushed him hard on the shoulders—the force wasn’t enough to move him, not Captain America, but he took a step back, startled by her anger. 

“What did you do to Tony? He was doing so well!”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Bullshit. I was watching him all night, like a hawk. He’s my *best friend.* I knew it was going to be hard, seeing me and Harold, but he said—he swore—he wanted us there. And he looked fine-- not fake-smile-for-the-camera fine, actually fine-- until you two went into the piano room.”

Steve shifted nervously from foot to foot. “Ma’am, I didn’t—”

“No, shut up! What did you do to him? He came out looking *haunted* and *limping.*” Steve startled visibly, his whole body jerking. “Do you have any idea how much shit he’s been through? God knows he isn’t perfect, but he’s trying and he—” her eyes were wet. Her voice went soft, sorrowful, a little choked. “It had been six weeks. Six weeks. And now he’s put his workroom in full lockdown with a bottle of scotch.” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “So, you’re going to tell me, briefly, what you did and what you said to Tony just now so I can go down there prepared to try and fix it.”

Steve’s heart was pounding and his face burned. He opened and closed his mouth while Pepper Potts looked at him expectantly. Her face was a cool mask, but her eyes were furious. He couldn’t force the words out—his throat felt tight. Time seemed to move painfully slow. He looked away. 

“Too ashamed to repeat it?” she asked. She waited for several long moments before letting out a bitter laugh and walking to the door. “To think,” she said over her shoulder, “his idol turned out to be a bully and a coward.” 

***  
Steve slammed his fist in to the punching bag as hard as he could. 

*A bully and a coward.*

Stark swore he’d “Captain-America-proofed” this equipment. Steve was testing that theory. 

*A bully and a coward.*

Oh God, he was. No, that wasn’t fair. Stark gave as good as he got-- he goaded him. But Steve keep pushing, he’d taken the bait, then taken. . . . Oh God.

*A bully and a coward.*

Steve slammed his fist into the bag so hard he could feel it in his joints.

Had Stark really been sober six weeks before that? He’d been carrying a tumbler, the kind for gin & tonic, but maybe it had just been water?

*You really do ruin everything you touch, don’t you?*

Steve winced and rubbed his forehead. (Not harsh at all, Steve.)

They really brought out the worst in each other. Steve hated himself around Tony Stark. He wondered if the other man felt the same way. 

*“He came out looking haunted and limping.”*

Steve had fucked Tony Stark against a wall so hard he’d hurt him. Steve had read about anal sex on the internet after that (furtively, nervously) and nearly had a panic attack at the list of injuries that could be caused by rough, anal penetration. Also, preparation was apparently a thing. (Stark should have said something! He knew it was going to hurt like that, maybe even injure him. He’d guessed that Steve had never . . . It wasn’t his fault. The sex hadn’t even been his idea.) 

*“He came out looking haunted and limping.”*

*A bully and a coward.*

Oh God.

The bag split at the seams, spilling sand across the floor at Steve's feet.

***

Until the elevator doors slid open, Steve wasn’t convinced that he’d be allowed access to the workshop floor. He was surprised he could get down there. He wasn’t surprised Pepper Potts was standing vigil. 

“How is he?” Steve asked quietly. 

Pepper glared at him, then sighed. “I still can’t get in. JARVIS will override Tony’s codes for me if it gets bad enough, but he—“ her voice went thick, “he changed my access code. I can’t get in the workshop anymore when he locks it.”

She looked lost in thought, her eyes sad, and Steve considered retreating but he couldn’t this time. He needed to understand. And she was wrong; he wasn’t a coward. He knew he’d fucked up (and, yeah, sure, with Stark’s help), but he would fix this, even if he had to swallow his pride.

“I don’t understand,” Steve said suddenly. “You and Tony—” Steve frowned. “You said he’s your best friend, but after he slept around how--?” 

“Wait, what?” Pepper turned to look at him so sharply her neck popped. “You think Tony *cheated on me*? You actually believed that absurd tabloid?” She shook her head, eyes wide. “You don’t know him at all, do you? Tony never cheated on me. He would never hurt someone he loved, not on purpose, not like that. I broke up with Tony, but not because of anything he did wrong, I just—” She looked so heartbroken, lost in the past for a moment, Steve had to look away. 

She shook herself. “It’s none of your business,” Pepper said primly, turning back to the darkened glass of the workshop windows. “But I’m sick of people assuming that he did something wrong. He is an arrogant, self-absorbed genius, but he’s also loving and kind and generous.” 

When Pepper turned to fix her gaze on Steve again, he knew he was about to feel just terrible. “Or don’t you remember watching him fly a nuke into space?” 

It took Steve a long time to figure out what to say. Eventually he decided on, “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” 

He took the elevator back up to his floor. 

***

Of course they would meet again in the kitchen. It had been two weeks since the gala. Tony’s weird goatee was a mess and there were dark circles under his eyes. His posture was stooped, but Steve was relieved to see him walking normally. As Tony dove for the coffee maker, he didn’t seem to notice Steve on the far side of the room. 

“Stark— Tony,” Steve began. Tony immediately stood straight, muscles tense. “I owe you an apology.”

“Are you actually giving me an apology?” Tony asked, tone sarcastic, as he turned to look at Steve, one eyebrow raised. He poured himself a huge mug of coffee, then clutched it close.

“Yes, I—” Steve sighed. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

Tony shrugged. 

“Really, I am,” Steve insisted. “And I— I didn’t know about—” Steve gestured awkwardly to the bar across the room. Tony followed his gaze.

“Oh. That. Whatever,” Tony shrugged again and made a dismissive gesture. Then he looked back at Steve with a bitter laugh. “I mean, not like it’s your fault. It was bound to happen, right?”

Steve opened his mouth, but Tony cut him off, “Was there anything else, Captain Rogers? ‘cause I’ve got work to do in the lab.”

“No, it’s just that I—”

“Good,” Tony said, already walking away. “See you around, then.”

***  
Steve, Bruce, Clint, and Natasha were all laughing together in the living room when Tony emerged from his workshop after another—actually, he wasn’t sure how many days the most recent marathon had been. Three days? Two pizzas and seven bottles of scotch? He really must be out of it to wander in without having JARVIS scout the area for him first. He’d missed Bruce, but really—

“Tony!” And it was too late to escape unnoticed. Bruce was hurrying to his side. “You’ve finally emerged.”

“Yeah, well, you know me.”

“Yes,” Bruce said, with that adorkable smile of his, “I do.” 

Tony smiled back.

“Come join us. We’ve been introducing Steve to internet memes and were just about to start Back to the Future.” Bruce reached out to take Tony’s arm, but he took a quick step back. 

“Sorry, can’t,” Tony said with a shrug. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. And, on second thought, a well-chilled bottle of Batard Montrachet. (But he couldn’t resist at least a glance in that direction…)

Steve turned on the couch and sat up very straight. He fixed Tony with his stupid blue eyes and said, very seriously, “Please stay, Tony.” They stared at each other across the room. “We’d really like you to join us.”

They continued to stare. Bruce glanced back and forth between them, frowning. Clint looked askance at Natasha, whose face remained blank. Finally, Bruce broke the tense silence: “Tony, you’ve been working non-stop. It’s not good for you. And you love Back to the Future!”

There was a pause before Tony broke eye-contact with Steve to look at Bruce. “Sorry, honey. Got plans tonight, but come down to the lab tomorrow. I’ve missed you too, buddy.” He clapped Bruce on the shoulder, waved to the room at large, and sauntered out calling “you kids have fun!” over his shoulder.

***

This time, Steve decided to try and waylay Tony in the living room. After all, they had fought a lot in the kitchen and they had, by mutual inclination, never stayed in the living room together for more than a few moments. 

It was ten a.m. when Tony wandered in wearing what was no doubt a very expensive suit, but looked like he’d slept in it two nights in a row. Tony didn’t seem to notice Steve, sitting in the farthest armchair reading the newspaper. Tony shuffled over to the bar and began picking up and setting down various bottles. Then he dropped to the floor patting underneath the bar. With a frown, Tony turned to the long leather couch and started poking between the cushions. 

“Did you lose something?” Steve asked. Tony spun to look at him. “Could I help you look?” Steve offered.

“No, no need.” Tony turned back to the couch. “I just misplaced a new USB adaptor prototype I was working on.”

Steve set the paper aside. “I don’t mind.” He walked to the opposite end of the couch and reached between the cushions. He felt something thin and metal; he pulled it out, feeling exultant, then chuckled ruefully.

“Well, I found a paperclip.” Steve offered it to Tony with a shrug and a tentative smile. 

“Yeah, no,” Tony said, pausing for a moment before going to pawing the cream colored leather. “We’re looking for something a bit more high tech than that. Oh!” He pulled out a tiny grey square of metal with four little gold and green bits on it. “Knew it had to be here somewhere. Mission accomplished. Thanks for the offer of the paperclip, though. Good to know you’re such a giver.” Tony gave him a little salute. (And was it mocking or joking?) 

“Tony,” Steve said, “wait! Please.” He took a seat on the couch and gestured to the open space beside him. “Look—the thing is, earlier, I know I said I was sorry, but that really doesn’t cover it. Please? Would you sit down? I—”

Tony remained standing and waved him off again. “Consider it said, Capsicle. I’m allergic to apologies.”

“But I want you to know—”

“No need, really.”

“—how much I—”

“Look, I get it. You’re sorry, big mistake, et cetera. And I bet Pepper put you up to this, didn’t she?”

“We talked, but that’s not—”

“So, here’s the thing,” Tony said as he crossed his arms over his chest, “at this point, you’re just being annoying and the apology is so obviously more about your guilty conscience than wanting to salve my supposedly wounded feelings. And shit like that doesn’t get to me amyway, so we’re cool. Okay? Done? Good!”

Steve wanted to grab Tony and shake him, but that was clearly the problem not the solution. So, when Tony turned for the door, giving him an expectant look with one mockingly-raised eyebrow, Steve took a deep breath and let him leave. 

***

They didn't see each other again for a week.

***

It was two in the morning and the tower felt cold.

“I hate it here, you know.” 

Steve was staring out at the New York skyline, but he could see Tony’s reflection in the glass as he padded into the living room once more and headed straight to the bar. Steve felt exhausted. 

“Well,” Tony said, dropping ice in his glass with a clatter. “I just designed a floor for you as a courtesy; it’s SHEILD that insisted you live here. Take it up with them.”

Steve shook his head. “No, not the Tower. This time. This New York. This America.” 

Tony looked startled and wandered quietly over to the window to stand next to him. “Yeah?” The billionaire’s tone was open and inquiring, almost pensive. No hint of challenge or mockery. (That was good at least.)

“Yeah.” Steve sighed. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess I’m glad I was here to fight the Chitauri. This may not be *my* New York or *my* America, but they’re still people and we—“ he hesitated, “we did a good thing. And I helped with that, but now . . .” Steve trailed off and shrugged. “I was only awake for a couple of weeks before Loki showed up. I guess some part of me figured that a few weeks later there would be another crisis and I’d be needed, but it’s been months and there’s nothing but this— ” Steve grimaced, “--brave new world and I hate it and I find myself thinking, I should have just died in my own time.” 

Tony took a sip of scotch. They stared out the window in silence for several long moments.

“I don’t actually want to die, though, and there’s no way for me to go back where I belong, so I need to—” Steve took a deep breath. “I need to figure this out. Learn not to hate the strangeness. Learn to start over.” He glanced over at Tony. “I’d like us to start over too.”

There was another long silence before Tony took a sharp breath and said, “Yeah. I guess we could try.” 

Steve hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. He was startled by the relief that swept over him at Tony’s words. He hadn’t realized how crushing his guilt, grief, and regret had been until now as it lifted.

“Thank you,” Steve said, half-afraid his voice sounded too earnest, too intense. Tony nodded and they continued to stare out the window. After a few minutes, though, Tony shook himself. 

“Okay, come on,” he said, with an expansive gesture and something joking, teasing in his tone of voice. “There must be *one* thing you like about the twenty-first century so far.”

Steve turned to smile at him hesitantly. “Well, there’s always pizza.”

Tony gave a cautious smile in return. “Yeah. Pizza’s a good start.” 

The End 

\--- Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!


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